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Alphonse Moreau Vice Captain
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 Posted: Wed Mar 15, 2006 4:09 pm
Usually, this is what people see upon first stepping off of the docks. There are no jagged cliffs or rocks here, the sand here is white and smooth and the beach gently slopes off into the water. Those that walk along this beach will likely find crabs, gnarled driftwood, washed-up shells, and other such things. Seagulls are prevalent, and are often found flying overhead or swarming and shrieking over a fish carcass that they pulled onto the sand to pick apart amongst themselves.
Walking higher up into the dunes, one will find that they're getting closer to the jungle. The sand here is thin and rather prone to slipping and shifting, making it hard to walk on if one isn't careful enough. Razor-sharp grasses and sea oats stick up, gradually turning into thick underbrush. Not far up the beach from the dock is a well-worn footpath, leading towards a high mountain.
Tucked away behind the grasses and underbrush not far up the path is a large stable, placed in a clearing just before the jungle begins to sprout up from the hardy plant life that makes up the dunes' flora.
The beach stretches from the south-east side to south-west side, where it starts to get a little rockier and rockier until the rocks build up into cliffs leading up to the great mountain on the northern side of the island.
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Posted: Sat Sep 09, 2006 10:28 am
In and out, back and forth, like the sway of the tide that tugged and pulled around him. He woke up to vaugly realized he was on land, and that he ached everywhere, and then slip back into blissful dark unconsciousness.
Broken lengths of wood were washed ashore all around him, the very pieces that had saved his life. The blond haired man lay face down in the sand for at least another good hour before finally managing to rouse himself into the world of waking.
Eirik Gudbrand gave a low groan as he pushed himself up to his knees, slumping there in the sand on the beach. He thought about what had happened, how he'd gotten here.
That's right, there'd been a b***h of a squall, the ship had capsized. He'd spent as much time as he'd dared looking for someone else before finally grabbing onto a heafty chunk of wood that had managed to hold together and floated for what felt like days. It possibly had only been one in reality, but the thirst and hunger were real enough, and the fear of unknown monsters lurking just below the frothy water's surface.
He'd passed out clutching his wayward chunk of wood to wake up with a mouth full of sand. He felt weak, which displeased him. He wasn't a weak man, in face he was known quite well for his handyness and strength back home.
But when faced with the newness of this stranger island... had he been the only one to survive?
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